


The One With The Covert Research

by bottleredhead



Series: Thou Shalt Suffer - And Be Fucking Happy About It [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, Enjolras, it is not called stalking (though it totally is).</p>
<p>(Or: The one with the WWII helmet, more Grantaire-induced boners and a shocking reveal of secrets.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With The Covert Research

**Author's Note:**

> I can't help it, Grantaire's body is calling to me.

“I just don’t see why we have to _stalk_ him,” grumbles Enjolras. He looks entirely conspicuous in his black hoodie and jeans of the same colour, a dark beanie shoved onto his head as a few golden curls peek from underneath.

Courfeyrac, dressed in similar garb, glares at him. “We’re not stalking him! It’s called covert research. Haven’t you ever wanted to be a spy?”

Ever the peacekeeper, Combeferre drops his hand heavily on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Down, boy. We’ll be in and out in a flash and he won’t he even see us or know we were there.”

There’s no need to say who ‘he’ is. Enjolras nods.

It takes the Amis ten minutes to reach their destination in their respective cars, and they look ridiculous piling in front of the building – Courfeyrac has told them to dress like they were going to star in a Mission Impossible movie. Marius has apparently taken that to mean army camouflage pants and a helmet that dates back to WWII.

The line outside the building is thankfully short and the heating inside is wonderful. Then again, it could be just the crush of bodies surrounding the boxing ring in the middle. Those circling the ring are holding fistfuls of bank notes and yelling obscenely as two men beat each other to a bloody pulp.

The group of them stays on the fringes of the room, close to the door in case they need to make a run for it. Bahorel’s eyes light up as soon as he spots the fighting pair. He looks like a kid who has had Christmas come early.

Letting out a low whistle, he takes half a step forward before being stopped Eponine’s hand on his arm. They’re here to ~~stalk~~ observe. 

“ _And the winner of this round is Reginald! Now, we’ve got the man who holds the title of Champion, the man who has fought his way to the top and impressed us all… R!_ ”

The gathered go wild, screaming and yelling and stomping their feet. The Amis exchange looks of surprise. Grantaire is a boxing champion?!

The crowd parts at one end of the room to allow Grantaire passage. His black curls are shoved off his face, hands taped-up like in the pictures as people pat his robe-covered shoulders when he passes by. He unceremoniously dumps the robe on the ground when he reaches the ring, a look of concentration on his face. The crowd goes unacknowledged, as though the artist-boxer can’t be bothered to smile for those who are all but chanting his name. Well, his nickname.

The pictures didn’t lie. Grantaire is fucking ripped, though not overly so. His muscles shift underneath the hair-dusted skin when he scales the cables binding the ring, rippling in a way that should be illegal if only because it’s so damn hot. Landing on his feet, he springs lightly in place, gaze focused on his opponent.

“Oh God,” groans Courfeyrac faintly, his eyes trained on the personification of sex in the ring. “Where has he been hiding that body?”

Enjolras frowns at him, but is not sure if Courfeyrac notices because his own eyes are glued to the half-naked form of Grantaire. “Under his clothes, I’d presume.”

Courfeyrac punches his arm. “Shut up. Do not even try to convince me that you haven’t got a massive boner for R right now. Seriously, don’t.”

“Man’s got a point,” murmurs Joly, hand squeezing Bossuet’s as he eyes his boxer friend and the grimy surroundings alternatively. “His abdominal muscles look rather, er, defined.”

Combeferre takes off his glasses to clean them on the edge of his dark wool jumper before returning them to their perch on his nose. “Speaking objectively, Grantaire seems to have developed his musculature to the point of it being attractive.”

He’s promptly shoved by Cosette. “Geek out later,” she says, expression enraptured. “The fact is that Grantaire looks like a wet dream and none of us knew.”

Marius lets out an undignified squeak, freckled face turning an interesting shade of purple as he sputters. “Cosette!”

He purples further when his girlfriend grins at him lecherously. “What? He’s definitely got the body type a girl would think about late at night to get off. Masturbation is healthy.” 

Eponine bumps her fist against Cosette’s and they giggle naughtily. “Didn’t know you had it in you, lark.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Ep. Care to find out?” The question is accompanied by a wink in the dark-haired girl’s direction. Marius starts choking.

Laughing like a hyena, Feuilly leans over to whisper in the wide-eyed blonde’s ear. “I think you broke Marius.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos very welcome!
> 
> Find me at: enjolraspermitsit.tumblr.com


End file.
